


First of her Name

by isisUnbound



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isisUnbound/pseuds/isisUnbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhaegar Targaryen is born a girl. The Realm still bleeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Septa Leanne - The Bookish Princess

No one had told Septa Leanne that bringing up a Princess of the Iron Throne would be this difficult.

Princess Rhaenys was not a spoilt, petulant child, far from of it. Most of the times, she was a sweet thing, even if a touch too melancholic. 

She simply wasn’t interested in the womanly arts.

Rhaenys’ stitches were big and uneven. Her curtsies were always a little wooden and she was a passable dancer at best. Her only ladylike accomplishments were her singing and her mastery of the harp. The Princess could play so beautifully than tears came to the eyes of the most battle-hardened of warriors.

Rhaenys was also bright and eager to learn anything the Maesters were willing to teach her. To Leanne’s dismay, she often carried around large, dusty tomes. She read curled up in the Maidenvault, she read in the gardens, she read in her bed by candlelight. 

The court laughed and called her the Bookish Princess. Rhaenys wasn’t supposed to be anything else but an afterthought, the destined sister-wife of the future Crown Prince.

But years passed and Princess Rhaenys remained a single child. The heir to the throne was technically Lord Steffon Baratheon, the King’s cousin. But it did not prevent any ambitious lords for imagining Rhaenys wrapped in their House colors and their son sitting the Iron Throne.

Leanne was pained to see that her young charge was already a pawn in the Game of Thrones. Thankfully, however bookish and dreamy Rhaenys was, she was far from unaware of the web of intrigues around her.

“You should smile more often, my Princess,” said Leanne as they were sewing together one day. For once, they were alone.

Rhaenys looked up from her stitching. She had the loveliest dark lilac eyes that Leanne had ever seen and a mouth like a rosebud. Her student had to be the fairest maiden of the Seven Kingdoms, yet her soft silver hair was slightly unkempt and her dress had an ink-stain on it.

“Why should I?” simply said the Princess.

“Half the Seven Kingdoms would fall in love with you if you did.”

“I have read all about the Dance of the Dragons, Septa Leanne. I know a woman will never sit the Iron Throne. Even if I become the greatest lady of the Seven Kingdoms, even if my beauty is likened with Shiera Seastar’s, I will never be anything more than a glorified broodmare.”

Leanne was shocked to hear such a cynical opinion from a maid of twelve. Yet she knew a lady wife’s duties could be unrewarding. There was a reason she became a Septa, after all.

“My Princess...”

“Do not fret, Leanne. I shall do my duty. I just don’t have to like it.”

It truly was a pity that Rhaenys would never rule.

However, when the Princess turned thirteen, Leanne’s hopes to see her charge on the throne one day rose. Tywin Lannister hosted a tourney at Casterly Rock in honor of King Aerys. His true purpose – betrothing the Princess to his son Jaime – was transparent. 

“Wouldn’t it be good if you married the Lion Cub?” whispered Leanne to the Princess. “He doesn’t have any Targaryen blood so you would be the Queen-Regnant and he your consort.”

“My father will never allow such a match.”

Unfortunately, Leanne’s wise Princess was right, as Aerys rudely refused to betroth his daughter to a “servant’s son”.

To distract the Princess from her grief, Leanne suggested to Rhaenys to get her fortune told by a woodswitch from Lannisport. She knew of her fondness for prophecies and surely, no harm would come from an old woman’s ramblings.

When Rhaenys came back, her mouth was set in a determined line and there was a light in her violet eyes that Leanne had never seen before.

“I need your help, Leanne.”

“Anything you require, my Princess.”

“I have to learn all you can teach me. It seems I must be a lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short, it's almost an introduction. The following chapters will be longer and give some of our favorite (or unfavorite) characters' point of view on Rhaenys.
> 
> This idea for an AU has been with me for a long time. I hope you like my Rhaenys: I wanted her to be still recognizable as Rhaegar but also vastly different because of their respective upbringings.
> 
> Please feel free to tell me if I made any English mistakes - it's not my first language.


	2. Robert Baratheon - A Dragon Bride

Some time after Robert Baratheon’s ninth nameday, Jon Arryn summoned him to his solar.

“I have just received a letter from your Lord father, Robert. You are betrothed to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

Robert couldn’t help but pout. He had hoped to marry Ned’s sister Lya. Ned spoke of her so often that Robert felt he almost knew her already. And it would have made him and Ned’s brothers in truth.

“This betrothal is an honor for you and House Baratheon,” said Jon Arryn with a stern look. “Princess Rhaenys is the King’s only child. One day, you may become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

To Robert, it sounded like an ordeal. He had noticed how _careful_ Jon Arryn was him, how he always made sure that Robert knew all about the Great Houses of Westeros, how he always insisted that the King’s honor should be higher than anyone else. It wasn’t like he was neglecting Ned – he wasn’t – but Robert definitely felt that he was groomed for a higher position that his friend.

Thankfully, it all stopped when Robert was twelve. Queen Rhaella finally managed to birth a living child, the long-awaited Crown Prince Viserys. Robert was rather relieved that he would never be King but that didn’t change anything about his betrothal to the Princess Rhaenys.

As he had never seen her, Robert had to rely on hearsay on the matter of his own betrothed. The Princess Rhaenys was four years older than him, already a woman. She was said to be very beautiful, courteous and kind, to sing well and play the harp. But that didn’t tell Robert anything about what kind of person she was.

He was fifteen when he actually met her.

Jon Arryn had decided that he should spend a year in King’s Landing getting to know his betrothed before they were married. Then they would go to Storm’s End and learn their future duties as the Lord and Lady of the Stormlands.

Robert had begged Jon to allow Ned to come with him. After much back-and-forth discussion between the North, the Vale and the Stormlands, it was finally agreed that Ned would enter the service of House Baratheon at least until Brandon became Lord of Winterfell. Then, he would decide if I wanted to stay in the Stormlands or come back North and be his brother’s bannerman.

Thus, it was with his best friend and foster-brother in tow that Robert Baratheon first rode into King’s Landing. He went to the Red Keep and paid his respect to King Aerys, a prematurely-aged man with long shaggy hair who hardly looked kingly. He saw Queen Rhaella, with her faded beauty and sad eyes, and even Tywin Lannister, the man who truly ruled the realm. But of Rhaenys, there was no sign.

Robert inquired discreetly about her whereabouts. He was told that the Princess was in the Maidenvault, preparing for his welcoming feast.

The feast was thrown that very night in the gardens of the Red Keep. It was oddly warm, the kind of heat only found in the last throes of summer. The moon and stars were unusually bright that night, and that was under their light that he first saw Rhaenys.

She was flanked by her two ladies-in-waiting, sun-kissed Elia Martell and famed Dornish beauty, Ashara Dayne. Yet Robert barely noticed either of them, so thoroughly they were outshone by his betrothed.

As Rhaenys glided toward him, Robert understood why they called her the Silver Princess. She was wrapped in the color as if it were a maiden’s cloak. Her silvery robe clung to her curves, showing off her tall, lithe figure while staying decent. Her long hair flowed freely around her heart-shaped face. Even her pale skin had a silver gleam under the moonlight.

Rhaenys was looking at him under her eyelashes, her head slightly titled, mild curiosity in her stunning purple eyes, as if Robert was a new but not unwelcome puzzle that she had to figure out. Finally, the riddle was solved, the answer to the Princess’ satisfaction: she smiled at him, a small, secretive smile that could have been shared by long-time friends.

“Your Highness,” Robert said somewhat gruffly.

She held out his hand and he kissed it.

“My Lord. Since we are to be wed, you should call me Rhaenys.”

“Then, you should call me Robert, You... Rhaenys.”

“These are my dearest friends, Princess Elia Martell and lady Ashara Dayne.” They curtsied. “And you must be Lord Eddard Stark, Robert’s foster-brother.”

“Indeed I am, Your Highness, replied Ned with one of his rare smiles. You seem to be well-informed.”

“I prize myself to know many things, Lord Eddard, said Rhaenys with a smile of her own. Would you allow me to be so bold as to borrow you friend for a few minutes?”

“You have more claim to him than I do, Your Highness.”

“I suppose I have.”

Rhaenys took Robert’s arm as if it belonged to her and they started walking together.

“So, what do you think of King’s Landing, Robert?”

“It stinks,” he replied without thinking.

Rhaenys laughed softly, hiding her mouth behind her hand like a perfect lady.

“I’ve always lived here so I am quite accustomed to the stench. However, I’m sure that I will quite like the Stormlands. I heard they were quite picturesque.”

“You seem content. Are you happy about this betrothal?”

“I have known that I would marry you since I was thirteen. This knowledge has been with me so many years that I can’t say I feel joy or sorrow about it. It simply is.”

She looked at him attentively and asked:

“Do you believe that certain things are bound to happen no matter what, Robert?”

“You mean fate? I don’t believe in it. There’s no fate, only the path we carve for ourselves.”

“We are truly very different. I believe I can make this work.”

“What?”

“Our marriage. Are you happy about it? Or has another lady captured your heart?”

For a split second, Robert thought about Lyanna Stark. There was something about the wildness of Ned’s she-wolf sister that appealed to him more than Rhaenys’ beautiful face and her perfect courtesies. But Lyanna had never been his, and would never be. His father had seen fit to give him this dragon bride instead and he would make the most of it.

“I am content, my lady. Who wouldn’t be happy to be betrothed to the most beautiful woman of the Realm?”

Later, Robert found out he had been somewhat unfair toward Rhaenys. She was more than everything a Southern noblewoman ought to be. She had some wildness inside her as well, but he only saw it after they were wed.

Rhaenys never refused him her bed. On the contrary, she was so enthusiastic about their marital duties that Robert hardly had the time to touch another woman.

Once, when he was in his cups, Robert had made a joke to Ned about the insatiable appetites of dragons. His friend had become so red in the face that Robert had thought for an instant that he was choking.

“Please don’t speak about Rhaenys this way.”

“Hey, Ned, don’t act like I’ve insulted my lady wife. She’s great. Not like these prissy highborn ladies who guard their cunts as if fucking them was the greatest privilege in all of Westeros.”

“I am glad you are... enjoying yourselves. I just don’t want to think of her like that.”

“You are in love with her,” said Robert. He was half-sprawled on the table.

“I am not!”

“I don’t blame you, Ned. Half the Realm’s in love with Rhaenys. She’s beautiful, kind. Such a great lady. Doesn’t even blame me for the wenching and the drinking.”

Ned looked at him, grey eyes angry.

“You should stop dishonoring her like that.”

“I told you, she doesn’t mind.”

“Perhaps she does. She just doesn’t let you see it.”

The following day, Robert’s head hurt more than if he had received a blow from his own war hammer. However, he still took his lady wife’s hand and asked her if she was happy.

“I can see sadness in your eyes, Rhaenys. I know I’m not a perfect husband. I’m not a very good husband at all, actually. But if there is anything I can do to alleviate your pain...”

“Do not fret, my lord husband, she replied quietly. I was born in grief and the shadow of Summerhall still lingers upon me. It is my nature and I cannot change it, no more than you can change yours. You were born to be jolly, Robert, and enjoy food, ale and women. You can do anything you want without fear of giving me offense. In exchange, I would ask one thing of you.”

“Ask and it shall be yours, my lady.”

“I want to give our children Targaryen names.”

Robert couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s the one thing you want? For our babes to have Targaryen names? Well, you can have as many Aegon, Daeron and Visenya as you want, woman. We can even recreate the whole Targaryen dynasty if it pleases you.”

Rhaenys smiled as him, her dragon smile, full of teeth and a lot more sincere than her usual polite, ladylike expression. Then, she pulled her husband towards her and kissed him hungrily.

Yes, Robert was growing very fond of his lady wife indeed.

It came to no one’s surprise when Rhaenys’ belly swelled after a mere few months spent together. She birthed a healthy daughter, a stout child with a full head of black curls, Baratheon blue eyes and her mother’s lovely Targaryen face. Rhaenys only glanced once at the child before whispering:

“Visenya. My Visenya.”

Robert was very fond of his daughter. He liked playing with her and making her laugh or coo. She was a happy, expansive child, her temper Baratheon through and through. When she wanted attention, she would cry so loudly for her mother than half of Storm’s End would shake.

“The Seven helps us, she already has your battlefield voice, Robert,” said Rhaenys once and Rhaenys making a joke of any sort was so incongruous that Robert couldn’t help grinning like a fool.

She was a good mother, his lady wife. She often fed Visenya herself instead of her leaving her with her wet nurse and woke up in the middle of the night to soothe her crying. Many highborn women left the care of their children to servants, but not Rhaenys.

But for all the time she spent with her daughter, for all the smiles she directed at her, Robert couldn’t help but notice that the shadow in Rhaenys’ eyes was growing. She was more and more melancholy and, sometimes, she even looked hunted.

“Is something wrong, Rhaenys?” he asked her once when they were abed. “Since the birth of Visenya, you haven’t been the same.”

“I love Visenya, she quickly replied, and I am very fond of you, Robert. But, sometimes, I wish... things were different.”

“Different how?” he asked candidly.

“I wish you could be my King. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, woman?” Robert guffawed. “It’s not your fault your mother finally managed to whelp a living boy. I never wanted to be King anyway.”

“You would have been my Consort. I would have ruled and you would have smashed our enemies to bits with your war hammer.”

“Sounds good to me, but since your brother is in perfectly good health, it’ll probably never happen.”

“No. It’s not meant to be,” said Rhaenys sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have liked for canon!Robert to see this AU where he is kinda happily married and having a lot of sex with a genderflipped version of his archenemy. It would have been fun. :)
> 
> I'd also like to apologize for Robert's mysogynistic remark: he would view women who refuse to sleep with him as prissy bitches. I obviously don't share his point of view but I was trying to stay true to his character, even the most unsavoury parts.
> 
> Next chapter will have more Ned because we all like more Ned! ^^


	3. Eddard Stark - Lady Rhaenys Baratheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned Stark doesn't fall in love at first sight but he falls all the same.

When Ned Stark was fifteen years old, he fell in love with his best friend’s betrothed.

It wasn’t love at first sight, as in the songs his sister Lyanna secretly loved. When Ned first met Rhaenys Targaryen, he didn’t even care that she was as beautiful as she was whispered to be. Instead, he was glad that she seemed kind and clever, that she behaved warmly towards her betrothed. He didn’t want Robert to be stuck in an unhappy marriage.

Rhaenys’ efforts to get on well with Robert went beyond simpered courtesies and pretty smiles. They extended even to him, the second son of the Lord of a faraway land most Southerners considered to be boring and uncivilized.

“Lord Eddard,” she called out to him once in the gardens of the Red Keep. “Please walk with me.”

Surprised – but not unhappily so – he took her arm and they started walking in the shades of the trees.

“You are my betrothed’s closest friend so I hope we can be friends as well,” said Rhaenys.

“Hmm... as you wish, Your Highness,” replied Ned, cursing his lack of social grace.

“Would you tell me about the North, Lord Eddard? I have a great fascination for this land. I read that, beyond the Wall, old frightful things still live, all but forgotten by men.”

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“The Others and the Children of the Forest only live in old wives’ tales, my lady.”

“They say the Northmen have long memories. I would hear these old wives’ tales, if it pleases you.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to give offense.”

“It is quite alright, Lord Eddard. I know this request must surprise you but I trust you not to judge me for it.”

“I would never _dare_ judge you,” said Ned. They shared a smile. Rhaenys’ was almost impish.

Ned never thought he would be regaling a Princess of the Iron Throne with some of Old Nan’s scariest stories, but Rhaenys was listening to him with rapt attention, eyes shining.

“Do you believe in these stories, Your Highness?” he dared to ask when he was finished.

“Most stories have a grain of truth in them.”

“You have a peculiar mind, my lady.”

“I’ve always been a peculiar princess. When I was young, I was such a bookworm than my Septa quite despaired of me.”

For the first time, Ned allowed himself to really look at Rhaenys. She was wearing a silk dress in a shade of blue that went well with her eyes. Her hair had been brush till they shone like spun silver and arranged in an elaborate Southron hairstyle. She looked every inch, every hair a Princess of the Iron Throne.

“I know what I look like,” said Rhaenys, as if she had read Ned’s thoughts. “But you will learn quickly that things here aren’t often what they seem.”

She was right. Ned had come to King’s Landing with few expectations, yet even the things he held to be self-evident were apparently wrong. The King did not rule the Kingdom. Tywin Lannister did. The Queen’s duties were mostly fulfilled by her daughter.

The Red Keep was Rhaenys’ small kingdom, the court her playground. She knew every gossip and had a hand in the organisation of every feast. The noblewomen knew it, and fought to spend an afternoon sewing with her in the Maidenvault.

Yet the atmosphere around Rhaenys was refreshingly honest. She had chosen her closest companions well. Both Elia Martell and Ashara Dayne seemed to genuinely care for her. Ned had gotten to know them rather well, as he was often left with them when Rhaenys and Robert wandered a few feet away.

Elia Martell had a kind heart and a sharp wit, though her tongue could be even sharper about the court’ most sycophantic nobles. Ashara Dayne was the most attractive woman Ned had ever met. Her charm did not only reside in her fair face and her curvaceous body. She was a delightful tease that could draw even Ned out of his shell.

Had he met her in any other circumstance, one glance from the lady Ashara would have left Ned a quivering mess. Yet every time he looked into her violet eyes, he saw Rhaenys’ looking back at him.

He often spoke with the Princess. About Ned’s adventures with Robert in the Eyrie, about her life in King’s Landing, about their family. Rhaenys’ sole brother was still a babe of three and she enjoyed Ned’s stories about his siblings, especially Lyanna.

“I quite admire your sister. She is so fierce. Had we been closer in age, I would have written to your Lord father’s to invite her to King’s Landing to be my lady-in-waiting.”

“I don’t think King’s Landing would have suited Lyanna,”

“Like a she-wolf among perfumed peacocks, you mean?”

Ned couldn’t help but laugh at the image. Rhaenys smiled sharply at him – a genuine smile, not the polite one she wore for the court.

“I would have tamed her eventually.”

Ned thought for a while before replying.

“If someone could, that would be you, my lady.”

“I was a little like your sister once. I rebelled in whatever small ways struck my fancy. Eventually, I learned that we all have to accept our fates. The only way we can have some control over our life is by using the weapons that have been given to us. They say courtesies are a lady’s armor. Your sister will learn it soon enough.”

“My sister is not you, Your Highness. I... I fear that she will make quite a poor lady. Her beauty and her strength lay elsewhere.”

“Ned, your sister may be a child but one day, she will marry the son of a Great House. She may never become a refined Southron lady but eventually, she _will_ play the game. They all do.”

Rhaenys sounded almost disgusted. For all that she was deft at manipulating nobles, she clearly didn’t enjoy it. “Give me a good book any day, or a quiet conversation with cherished friends, and I will be perfectly happy,” she had told Ned once.

He didn’t matter what they talked about in the end. Even the silences between them were comfortable. Ashara Dayne put him at ease but it was with Rhaenys he felt true kinship.

And thus Ned found himself standing behind his best friend in the Great Sept of Baelor, his face hot with shame. His pathetic crush on Robert’s betrothed had to end there and then.

Rhaenys and Robert’s faces were turned towards the High Septon so Ned could only see their backs. Yet, he could tell even then that they were the perfect couple. Ned’s friend was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a body that made women swoon. Rhaenys, standing next to him in her maiden’s cloak of scarlet and black, was almost as tall as her soon-to-be husband but lithe and womanly. She was as fair as he was dark, as beautiful as he was handsome.

The wedding all went in a blur. One moment, Robert was wrapping Rhaenys in a cloak of gold and black embroidered with prancing stags. Another, Rhaenys said her vows, looking shy, demure and everything a blushing bride was supposed to be – _so unlike her_ – before Robert replied, crowing his own vows at the top of his lungs – _so like him_.

Then, they kissed and, suddenly, it was over.

The newly-married couple turned towards Ned. Rhaenys looked every bit as regal in Baratheon yellow and black as she did in Targaryen scarlet. There was fire in her eyes and she looked happy. Ned wished he was.

The feast was especially joyous. Rhaenys had warm smiles and kind words for every guest. Robert made japes and laughed loudly, though he had merely wetted his lips at every toast. Before the wedding, Ned had lectured his friend sternly about the bedding: “The Princess Rhaenys is a highborn maid. She doesn’t need a man half in his cups for her wedding night. You will have to be very gentle with her.” Robert had agreed readily and Ned’s esteem of his friend had grown. Perhaps he would change his ways and become the husband Rhaenys deserved.

When they finally called for the bedding, Ned helped the Kingsguard shorten it. He caught Ser Arthur Dayne’s grateful look and smiled at the man. It seems there were still some true knights after all.

After the wedding, they rode for Storm’s End. It was a small party, as Rhaenys had to leave behind nearly everyone she knew, including her ladies-in-waiting. She was no longer a Princess of the Iron Throne but a Lady of House Baratheon and she would have to make new acquaintances in the Stormlands.

If Rhaenys felt any pain at the separation, she did not show it. She made short work of getting everyone in her new household to like her. Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana Baratheon were especially fond of their new gooddaughter.

“You can see that our Rhaenys will be a good mother,” said Lady Baratheon once with stars in her eyes. She was looking at Rhaenys who was cradling her youngest son Renly, a babe of one. 

From the Lord and Lady of the castle to the lowest scullery maids and stable boys, Rhaenys’ name was on the lips of everyone in Storm’s End. Ned tried hard not to listen to the maids giggling that the handsome young Lord and his lady wife had done _it_ in every room of the castle, including the Lord’s solar. He wouldn’t put past Robert to have done just that. Of Rhaenys, he was not sure.

Perhaps she did it to keep her husband from bedding other women. Perhaps she enjoyed it, and who was he to judge her for finding pleasure in her own marriage bed?

The only thing that enraged Ned was that Robert was still wenching. Had his friend no honor? Rhaenys, ever the perfect lady, pretended not to see it but Ned could see the pain in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

One day, he could bear it no longer and apologized for his friend’s behavior, his throat tight with shame.

“Oh Ned,” replied Rhaenys. “I truly do not mind.”

“Then, what is the cause of your pain, my lady, and is there anything I can do to alleviate it?”

Rhaenys was silent for a long time before she whispered:

“ _Queen you shall be. The Realm will love and bleed for you._ ”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Rhaenys?”

“When I was thirteen, I visited this witch, Maggy. She told me that I would be Queen.”

“A wrong guess, obviously, since your brother was born three years after.”

“I will be Queen, insisted Rhaenys, but Robert won’t be my King. He can’t be.”

“Do not let this vile witch’s words trouble you, my lady. She told you nothing but lies.”

Yet Ned could see that Rhaenys’ heart was not at peace. Even the birth of her daughter did not bring her true joy.

Rhaenys’ every fear proved true when they brought back her husband from his hunt in a litter. Robert was a very good hunter but he had drunk too much and had been half in his cups when the boar had gored him. His passing was quick, a small mercy for his wife of scant more than a year.

The death of Robert shook Storm’s End to the core. No one could have predicted that the Baratheon heir, a good, strong lad of seventeen, would die so young.

His foster brother’s death was like an open, bleeding wound in Ned’s heart. Yet no one mourned him more than Rhaenys. She wept bitterly during the whole burial, looking both sad and furious at the same time.

Lord and Lady Baratheon both offered her to stay and raise Visenya at Storm’s End. Rhaenys had politely declined, saying that it would be easier for her to deal with her grief amongst her old friends and family.

Ned also asked Lord Baratheon if he could take his leave. With Robert and Rhaenys gone, there was nothing for him in Storm’s End. He longed for the North, for the halls of his childhood and the company of Brandon, Benjen and Lyanna.

Ned and Rhaenys departed Storm’s End on the same day. He would escort his friend’s widow as long as he could, for, when their roads parted, he would probably not see her again for many years. He had no reason to come back to King’s Landing and the Starks seldom went to tourneys.

He still loved her. He had loved her in Targaryen scarlet and in Baratheon yellow and he loved her still in mourning black. But it could never be. Not because she was a Princess by blood – too highborn for a second son – but because she was still Robert’s wife. The ghost of his friend would forever stand between them. If Ned ever endeavored to forget it, even for an instant, the girl babe in Rhaenys’ arm – so like Robert – would have reminded him well enough.

Still, he would miss her.


	4. Jaime Lannister - His Lady

Spring had come again and the sun shone brightly for the greatest tourney in the Realm.

Jaime Lannister dismounted carelessly before the Lannisters’ crimson pavilion and threw back the gilded tent flap.

“You wanted to see me, Father?”

“Princess Rhaenys’ year of mourning is over. She may wed again.”

“Do you want me to court her?” said Jaime with a cocky grin.

“I mean for you to do just that. You are a knight. The Princess is no maid but she is still young and comely. It should be easy enough for you to gain her favor.”

“What about her father?”

Jaime could see he had touched a nerve. The Old Lion was proud, and he had not forgotten how Aerys had slighted him and his son nearly ten years ago.

“I will deal with Aerys later,” said Tywin coldly. “ _You_ will come with me to King’s Landing once this tourney is over and do as you’re bid.”

Jaime nodded. His father’s plan suited him perfectly well, though he didn’t care for Rhaenys. He had only seen her once, as a boy of six, and remembered nothing of it except that she had been older than him and had long silver hair.

“So, sweet sister,” he had asked Cersei that night after they had made love. “What does the Dragon Princess look like? I heard she was called the greatest beauty in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“She’s beautiful enough for a dragon,” replied Cersei sourly.

“Don’t be jealous, sweet sister. Why would I be interested in the Targaryen girl when I already have a vision of the Maiden made flesh?”

He hugged her from behind and she let him, but he could see on her face that she was still displeased.

“When this tourney’s over, Father will bring me to King’s Landing to court the Princess and, as long as he clings to this idea of a betrothal between us, I will stay there. Don’t you see, Cersei? We can finally be together.”

“You will marry her. I know you will.”

Jaime laughed.

“I wouldn’t worry your pretty golden head for that. The Mad King called me a servant’s son. I’m obviously not good enough for his daughter’s silver cunt.”

The next day, Jaime saw the Princess sitting in the gallery next to Lord and Lady Whent. In deference to her late husband, her dress was mostly black, with a hint of Targaryen scarlet.

Jaime had always considered Cersei to be the fairest girl he had ever seen, and she was. A beautiful, golden girl. Rhaenys Targaryen was a woman and she held herself like a Queen. Seeing how everyone seemed to defer to her, she might as well have been.

_Father means to put a crown on her head. On mine as well._

Rhaenys caught him looking and gave him a sad smile. He bowed his head to her, feeling like green boy.

That night, he played the dutiful son and went to speak with the Princess. It was easy, as she was accompanied by Cersei and the youngest Tully girl, Lysa.

“Sweet sister, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your dearest friends?”

Cersei smiled prettily, though her eyes were filled with green fire. She simpered:

“Brother, this is Lady Lysa of House Tully and Lady Rhaenys of House Baratheon. Lady Lysa, Lady Rhaenys, this is my brother, Ser Jaime Lannister.”

The Princess held his hand to him and he kissed it.

“Ser Jaime, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You fought very well today.”

“Thank you, my lady. May I have the honor of this dance?”

“You may.”

He led her to the dance floor. She danced beautifully, of course.

“You do not speak, Ser Jaime. Has a cat got your tongue?”

“A man can only remain speechless when so much beauty is placed before him,” replied Jaime, hoping it sounded gallant to her. He was thinking of Cersei.

“You’d rather be dancing with your sister now,” said Rhaenys with unsettling accuracy.

Jaime was stunned and his denegation came a second too late:

“No, my lady, I...”

She interrupted him:

“It’s fine, Ser Jaime. I understand. Your father has asked you to court me and you are doing your duty.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No. I need a knight, to protect me and defend my honor. You are young still but brave and full of promises. I meant it when I said you fought well. I need a knight and I want it to be you, Ser Jaime.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you protected by the Kingsguard, as a member of the royal family?”

“Your sister meant to slight me when she introduced me as a Baratheon but she is not wrong. The Kingsguard is wholly my father’s and I’m nothing to him. _Please_ , Ser Jaime.”

She was looking at him with such desperation that Jaime felt it tug as his heart. How could he refuse to help a beautiful, young Princess and still call himself a true knight?

“If I became your knight... what would it entail?”

“You would wear my favor and crown me your Queen of Love and Beauty. They would sing songs about our courtly love and your father would be best pleased.”

Cersei certainly wouldn’t be pleased. But this mummer’s farce would allow Jaime to stay in King’s Landing and that was all that mattered, right?

“I will pledge my sword to you, my lady.”

Rhaenys smiled at him, eyes full of gratitude. Jaime no longer felt the green boy now. In fact, he felt ready to take on the whole Kingsguard.

She pressed a piece of black fabric in his hands. It had been painstakingly embroidered with a three-headed red dragon.

“This is my favor. I know you will wear it well and do me much honor. Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

Cersei had already given him her favor. Jaime hesitated over which one to wear for an instant before he laughed it all away. Why choose when he could have both?

Thus Jaime fought in the melee with two favors tied on his arm. When he won, he went to his knee before Rhaenys, until she bid him to rise with a regal nod.

That night, Jaime received his father’s congratulations. Cersei was cold to him for the rest of the tourney, though he managed to reconcile with her before they reached King’s Landing.

His sister’s hatred of Rhaenys was dark and fierce. He could see it every time he sat with the Princess. As it would not be proper for them to be alone, Rhaenys was always accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting: the older ones, Elia Martell and Ashara Dayne, and the younger ones, Lisa Tully and Cersei.

Jaime spoke with all of them, but mostly with Rhaenys. Their conversations were usually pleasant, as pleasant as sitting with women and talking could be. Rhaenys had a way to look at him behind her eyelashes like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. She listened to his stories with rapt attention and Jaime would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t basking in her attention a little.

Cersei did not bear it well, of course. As time passed, her tongue grew sharper and her remarks more acidic. The Princess noticed it and gave Cersei a hundred subtle occasions to excuse herself. Cersei, ever so proud, ignored them all.

_She is behaving like a child._

“Of course, I have to spend time with the Princess,” he explained to her night after night. “How could I keep the pretense of courting her if I never saw her?”

“That sly bitch is sinking her claws into you and you don’t even notice it.”

“Cersei... I don’t love her.”

That wasn’t completely true. He admired Rhaenys from afar, for her beauty, her wits, her grace. He danced with her at feasts and wore her favor. He received her praise in public and spoke with her only in other people’s hearing. He loved her but he would never do more than kiss her hand. That was a courtly love, between a knight and his lady, and no danger to Cersei.

“You are my flesh and blood, my mirror image, my twin, my soul mate. There is no other woman in this world that could take your place in my heart, Cersei. No Targaryen will ever get between us,” Jaime swore and Cersei kissed him fiercely, desperately.

In the end, it wasn’t a Targaryen that got between them but a Baratheon. One night, as they were supping together in the Tower of the Hand, Tywin Lannister announced:

“I have just reached an agreement with Lord Baratheon. Cersei will marry his son, Stannis”

Cersei’s eyes widened.

“No, Father... why can’t I marry the Crown Prince?”

“Viserys is six years old and he already has a niece to marry. I have a far better chance of matching your brother with Rhaenys.”

“But I don’t want to marry this dour, disagreeable man!”

“Stop behaving like a child, Cersei! Stannis Baratheon is the best match for you and you _will_ marry him.”

“Excuse me, Father, I seem to have lost my appetite,” whispered Cersei. Before anyone could reply, she rose from her seat and broke into an unladylike run.

“May I also be excused, Father? I will try to reason with her.”

Tywin Lannister only nodded coolly.

It took Jaime a long time to find Cersei. He looked everywhere in the Red Keep before he finally wandered into the Sept. Cersei wasn’t particularly pious but here she was, kneeling before the Maiden, her head bowed low, golden curls falling freely unto her shoulders.

When she saw him, she threw herself in arms. Her cheeks were covered in tears as she begged him:

“Help me, Jaime! _Save me_!”

“Hush, Cersei, hush,” he whispered in her ears. “You won’t have to marry dour Stannis.”

She perked up.

“Really?”

“Come away with me, sister. Let’s take a boat to the Free Cities. I will become a sellsword and you can be my lady wife.”

“Are you mad, Jaime? You are the heir to Casterly Rock, a Lion of Lannister, not a filthy sellsword. I am a lady of House Lannister and I won’t sleep on dirt and live in exile. I will find a way to end this betrothal and marry the Boy Prince. Then, you can join the Kingsguard and we will be together forever.”

“This is nothing but a fantasy, Cersei. What is it with Father and you and your obsession with Targaryens? You will never marry Viserys, no more than I will ever marry Rhaenys.”

Cersei’s face froze when she heard the Princess’ name.

“So this is about her, Jaime? You’re abandoning me for your dragon bitch?”

“This isn’t about Rhaenys, this is about us! Be it as it may, sweet sister, if you want to avoid marrying Stannis, you can either join me in Essos or join the Silent Sisters.”

Jaime had stomped out of the Sept in furor. Ever since that moment, Cersei had not spoken with him. She hadn’t given up on the idea of wriggling her way out of her betrothal with Stannis Baratheon and she hadn’t forgiven Jaime for giving her the cold, hard truth.

Rhaenys... Rhaenys understood. She found him, dejected and alone, and took his hands. For once, her ladies were not with her so there wasn’t anyone to judge them. _And certainly not Cersei, damn her._

“What is the matter, Jaime?”

“My sister is angry with me because I told her she couldn’t do anything to break her betrothal with Stannis Baratheon,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“You’re right,” replied Rhaenys calmly. “Your sister will marry Lord Stannis and you will marry me, or another highborn lady. Yours was a sweet summer love, my knight, but you must give up on it.”

Jaime started and looked at Rhaenys in the eyes:

“You don’t mean that my sister and I...”

“I am a Targaryen, born of dozens of marriages between sister and brother. I understand you, Jaime, and I don’t judge.”

Jaime could feel nothing but relief. He had hidden his relationship with Cersei so long that it felt good to be able to speak about it with _anyone_ , especially someone who looked at him with soft lilac eyes.

“I don’t think I can give up on Cersei. We are not whole without each other.”

“But you will learn to be. Once you’re wed, you and your sister will drift apart. Oh, you may see her sometimes at tourneys but it won’t ever be the same. She will be another man’s wife, the mother of his children. Your lives will be removed from each other and, eventually, so will you. The pain will fade.”

She had spoken the whole tirade without ever stopping, eyes melancholy.

“How can I accept _that_?”

“What can you do about it?” she asked bluntly.

“I asked Cersei to run away with me. And she will, once she realizes there is no other way.”

Rhaenys just looked at him with a sad smile.

“She won’t. Not now, not ever. She wants a golden crown, not the life of an exile.”

The words pierced Jaime’s heart, because they were so close to what Cersei herself had said.

“The crown is silver, my lady, and it is yours. Cersei will never have it.”

“But she has you.”

The words had been so softly uttered that Jaime thought for an instant that he had dreamt them.

“You want me, my lady?” he asked incredulously.

Rhaenys was holding his hand in a death grip. Her eyes were filled with desperation and unshed tears.

“I _need_ you, Jaime. I need you more than your sister ever did. More than anyone ever did.”

She kissed him – a soft, chaste kiss, a maiden’s kiss. It wasn’t like any kiss he had ever shared with Cersei. She had always been bold, even as a child.

“I’m sorry. It was foolish of me,” said Rhaenys, head bowed in shame.

She tried to rise but Jaime still held her hands in his. He kissed that pretty mouth of hers, again and again. She let him.

There were no longer a knight and his lady. They had crossed a line and there was no going back. There were stolen glances and touches between them as they sat together speaking of nothing. Cersei had to see it. He could see the hatred in her eyes but now it was directed towards him as well. “ _Betrayer. Dragonfucker,_ ” her eyes seemed to say.

_By what right do you judge me, sweet sister? By what right? Rhaenys is a widow and I am no woman’s husband. Least of all yours._

That night, when he crept into Rhaenys’ bedchamber, she was sitting at her vanity. Her face looked pale and distraught in the mirror.

“What troubles you, Rhaenys?”

Wordlessly, she turned towards him and rose from her seat. She took her hand and made him sit on the bed next to her.

“Jaime, I’m pregnant.”

He watched her, stunned.

“I thought you were taking herbs and potions not to conceive.”

“These things fail sometimes. I have spoken with a maester and he’s absolutely sure I am with child. Do not worry, he will keep the secret. Not another soul knows the truth, but you and I.”

“Do you... do you want to keep it?”

She nodded.

Jaime knew many men had illegitimate children but planting a bastard into a whore’s belly wasn’t the same as getting one on your highborn lover. He respected Rhaenys and loved her in his own away. He had pledged his sword to her and swore to defend her honor. He would do right by her.

“Then, I would marry you, if you would have me.”

“I would, Jaime, I would,” said Rhaenys, eyes bright, skin flushed. “You must beg my father for my hand tomorrow.”

“Will he give it to me?”

“Probably not,” admitted Rhaenys sadly. “But, even if he doesn’t consent, I will find another plan that will allow us to wed.”

It wouldn’t be so bad, marrying tall, silver-haired Rhaenys who was nothing like his golden sister. Perhaps she would even manage to make him forget Cersei. She certainly tried her hardest to.

Thus it was almost gladly that Jaime went on his knees before Aerys and begged him for his daughter’s hand. The King never answered him, he just laughed. It was a laud, raucous laugh that clearly belonged to a madman. Jaime waited, head bowed, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was Tywin Lannister, his face as hard and cold as carved marble.

“Rise up, Jaime. We are not wanted here.”

In the place of his son, he left the silver pin of the Hand.

Tywin gave curt orders to his steward. Everyone in the household was to ready themselves, for they would depart King’s Landing in short order. The former Hand and his children would leave first, at first light on the morrow.

Jaime managed to catch Rhaenys alone in an empty corridor of the Red Keep.

“What shall we do?”

“I have found a Septon who will marry us in secret. Come to the northern gate at midnight with a highborn, loyal friend to witness our union.”

“And then?”

“Tomorrow, you will leave King’s Landing as planned. I shall await your raven. As soon as I know that you are safe behind the walls of Casterly Rock, I will tell my father everything. Oh, he will rage about it, but he won’t hurt me. He will _want_ to hurt you and your father but his small council will dissuade him to declare war on the Westerlands because of the trifling matter of his eldest, unimportant daughter’s wedding.”

Jaime nodded. Rhaenys’ plan seemed sound.

“I will see you tonight, my lady.”

He kissed her quickly and was on his way to plan his wedding.

First, he chose Addam Marbrand as witness. The lad was an old childhood friend and would not let his tongue wag. He took advantage of the fact that every member of the Hand’s household was busy packing by discreetly pilfering a Lannister marriage cloak. It was red velvet with the lion of Lannister embroidered in threads of gold, newly-made and beautiful.

_Did Father commissioned it for Cersei’s wedding with Stannis? Or was it meant for Rhaenys all along?_

In the end, it didn’t matter.

It was a simple ceremony in a derelict Sept. The Septon was an old, balding man whose breath smelled of wine. Rhaenys wore an old, moth-eaten Targaryen maiden cloak that she’d found in some forgotten corner of Maegor’s Holdfast. No one stood behind them, except for Addam Marbrand and Lysa Tully.

“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife,” Jaime said. His lips barely brushed Rhaenys’ before there was a loud pounding on the door.

“Open, in the name of the King!”

The Septon paled.

“Finish the ceremony!” urged Jaime.

The Septon raised his crystal with a trembling hand and said in a quivering voice:

“Here in the sights of gods and men, I do solemnly pronounce Jaime of House Lannister and Rhaenys of House Targaryen to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them!”

The door shattered.

Before them stood four knights of the Kingsguard, led by Ser Arthur Dayne.

“It’s too late,” Jaime said, openly mocking. “We are already married.”

Arthur Dayne gave him a sad look.

“Whether you are married or not doesn’t matter. I have orders from the King to arrest you all.”

“On what charge?” said Addam Marbrand, his hand on his sword hilt.

“Treason.”

Jaime knew the King had recently changed his mode of execution. Now, those who were sentenced to death were burned alive.

“I’d rather die with steel in my hand than submit to the King’s fire and blood,” said Jaime. Addam Marbrand nodded. They took out their swords and charged.

A fraction of second later, Jaime was fighting the Sword of the Morning, matching him blow for blow, parry for parry. He never felt more alive than when Dawn came upon him, slicing through his shoulder.

The world spun. He saw Lysa Tully’s horrified look, Rhaenys’ pale, sorrowful face and, strangely, Cersei’s, her hair shining like molten gold, her eyes filled with passion like each time they had lain together.

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was an hard chapter to write. I had trouble finding Jaime's voice because in the books, we have an older, much more cynical Jaime. This is a fifteen-years-old who still believes that knights can be honorable and true to theirs vows. I wanted to keep his Jaime-ness but make him more idealistic. And there was the whole problem of his relationship with Cersei... it's up to you to tell me if I managed to keep this version of Jaime true to his canon self.
> 
> The next chapter will come back to the Tourney That Ruined Everything Ever, with the pov of... guess who?


	5. Lyanna Stark - The Silver Princess

Her brother came back from the Stormlands a changed man.

Ned was even quieter than usual and often seemed lost in his thoughts. At first, Lyanna thought he was just grieving for his foster brother’s loss. However, as months passed and Ned’s brooding intensified, Lyanna became convinced it was something more and she pestered Ned until he told her the truth.

Her big brother had fallen in love. And with a Princess, no less.

“What kind of person is your Rhaenys?”

“She is not my Rhaenys,” replied Ned humorlessly. “The Princess is smart. Dutiful. Able. Everything a member of the royal family should be.”

“She sounds like a perfect lady,” said Lyanna bitterly.

“She is a lot more than that.” Ned’s voice was fond. “You would have gotten on well. She already liked you just by hearing my stories about you.”

“Perhaps I will get to meet her. We’ll go to Lord Whent’s tourney and she got to be there, right?”

Ned’s face fell.

“Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t see her.”

“You will have ample time to forget her once our father marries us off. Go to Harrenhal and romance your Silver Princess, dearest brother. At least, you will have known true love for a while.”

Lyanna wasn’t betrothed yet but she knew it was only a matter of time. In a few years, she would be married to a man who would force to dress like a lady and sew from sunup to sundown.

Ned was a second son so it would be harder to find him a match. In the end, it would probably be the daughter of one of Lord Rickard’s bannerman. Once he wed, Ned would probably never leave the North or see his Princess again.

The tourney at Harrenhal was Lyanna’s first but any enthusiasm she had felt about the event was squashed when she found three squires bullying a Northman. She was so absorbed by plotting on how to teach them honor that she barely noticed Rhaenys Targaryen at the opening feast. At least, not until the Princess glided towards their table.

“Lord Eddard, it is a pleasure to see you again,” she said warmly.

“I am glad to see you well, my lady.”

The words were trite but her brother’s voice was soft and his eyes warm when they looked upon the Princess’ face. He definitely was in love.

“This must be your younger siblings, Lord Benjen and Lady Lyanna. And Lord Howland of House Reed.”

The crannogman bowed his head to the Princess, visibly surprised that she knew him.

“No bannerman of my father is unimportant, my lord, and certainly not the heir of House Reed, who holds the Neck.” Rhaenys turned to Lyanna. “You were right to defend him fiercely, my lady.”

“I didn’t do it because of his father’s lands. I did it because it was right”, said Lyanna sharply.

“Would that we could always do the right thing, Lady Lyanna. Would that we could,” replied the Princess sadly. “If you ever want female company, you can come to the Targaryen pavilions and sit with me and my ladies-in-waiting. You would be most welcome.”

“Thank you,” said Lyanna but she knew her tone lacked conviction. She couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for sitting around sewing and snacking on lemon cakes.

Once the Princess had left, Ned shot her an angry look.

“Why did you have to be so rude, Lya?”

“I wasn’t rude! Okay, maybe I was, just a little. She’s just so... southron.”

“Of all people, I didn’t think you would judge someone so easily,” her brother said in a disappointed tone. “Do you think an empty-headed southron lady would have known Holland’s name and that you defended him from bullies earlier today? I bet no one else noticed, or cared.”

“I never said she was dumb, or mean. You wouldn’t like her if she was. I just mean that we don’t really have anything in common.”

Ned couldn’t deny that so he just sighted and stared at his empty plate, probably to stop himself from mooning over the Princess.

It was hard for Lyanna to like Rhaenys, especially when the Princess spent the whole tourney showering Ser Jaime Lannister with attention. She even gave him her favor and he bowed to her after winning the melee. Everyone was already whispering about how beautiful the Silver Princess and her golden knight looked together. All Lyanna saw was the pain on her brother’s face each time he saw Rhaenys with Jaime Lannister.

Lyanna did not plan on talking with Rhaenys ever again but it all changed at the last feast of the tourney. Ser Arthur Dayne had won the jousting earlier that day and crowned Elia Martell his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Blue winter roses were Lyanna’s favorite flowers and, sometimes, in rare flights of fancy, she even wore them, weaving them into her dark hair. They suited Elia Martell better, though. The deep blue of the flowers highlighted the Princess of Dorne’s dark complexion in a way that was most becoming.

At the feast, Lyanna had been musing over Ser Arthur’s choice. Crowning his sister Ashara would have been the safest choice: all acknowledged she was lovely. As a member of the Kingsguard, he could also have chosen the Silver Princess, the one they called the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. But instead, he had picked Elia. Why?

_He must be in love with her, or at least respect her above all other women._

Lyanna had been so lost in her thoughts that she was startled by the sound of the harp. The Princess had gotten out her silver instrument and everyone had stopped to listen.

Rhaenys started singing.

She had a clear, high voice, as sweet as summer wine and as cold as a Northern winter. Her song was sad, about lost love and missed opportunities. It was so beautiful that Lyanna could not help but weep.

When Rhaenys was finished, Lyanna walked up to her.

“You sing beautifully.”

“Thank you,” said Rhaenys simply as she putted aside her harp. She also had tears in her eyes. “I sang this song for my friend Elia.”

Lyanna recalled Elia Martell’s radiant smile when Arthur Dayne had put the crown of flower in her lap.

“She and Ser Dayne are in love, right?”

“I think so. Ser Arthur and Elia are both reserved about their feelings but I have an eye for these things.”

“You know my brother loves you.”

It wasn’t a question. Rhaenys didn’t say anything, just kept looking infuriatingly sad.

“Why do you parade on Jaime Lannister’s arm, then? My brother’s better than any Lannister!”

The Princess laughed. It sounded odd and brittle, but strangely sincere.

“Of all the people I’ve met, your brother is the one I liked best. If I could choose who I’d marry, it would be him in a heartbeat. But it was never my choice.”

“Why? Aren’t you a widow? I thought widows were freer to choose their suitors.”

“I am a Princess, and the King will have the final say in who I marry. But, even without that, I can’t just choose anyone I want. My choice reflects on the whole Realm.”

She looked at Lyanna carefully before speaking in a low whisper:

“My father’s health is deteriorating. Tywin Lannister has served him faithfully for many years and yet, the King is increasingly rude and dismissive towards his Hand. The Old Lion’s pride is the only thing keeping him in Kingslanding. He wants a Targaryen Princess for his son as a reward for all he’s done for my father and the Realm. I am not so stupid as to deny him. I will marry Ser Jaime and we will continue to have peace and plenty.”

“So you feel nothing towards him?”

“He is a good boy and a brave knight. I could do a lot worse. What about you, Lady Lyanna?”

Lyanna looked down.

“My father is speaking about betrothing me to Stannis Baratheon.”

“Lord Stannis is not a bad man but he is cold and stern. I don’t think he would understand your... more unladylike aspirations. A match further South would suit you better. Do you know that, in Dorne, propriety is laxer than in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms? You could probably get away with wearing breeches and carrying a sword.”

Lyanna’s brows furrowed. Even her father had not thought about sending her this far South. Dorne was as hot and dry as the North was cold and its people had the reputation of being strange and lascivious. _But, if I truly wouldn’t have to be a lady, perhaps the idea would bear some thinking about?_

“Who would you have me marry, then?”

“Prince Oberyn Martell.”

“He is ten years older than me and he already has three bastards,” said Lyanna with distaste.

“Many Lords have bastards, but do you know any that would allow their wives to have baseborn children? There are none, outside of Dorne. Prince Oberyn would not forbid you anything that he allows himself to do. Besides, it would do him good, to marry someone with a fierce temper and a good heart.”

“How so?”

“Prince Oberyn fathered his first daughter on an Oldtown whore. When he came to claim his daughter, the mother would not give her up. So he slapped her across the face and told his daughter to choose her weapon: a man’s spear or a woman’s tears. She chose the spear.”

“If I had been her, I would have taken the spear and plunged it into his guts!” said Lyanna fiercely.

“I know, my lady. Prince Oberyn is not a bad person but there is some cruelty in him. Blindness as well.” Rhaenys chuckled slightly. “We don’t get to choose our weapons after all. We fight with everything we have. I wish you good luck, Lady Lyanna.”

This left Lyanna somewhat bewildered. Yet, she did not forget Rhaenys’ words. She reassured Ned that the Princess’ match with Ser Jaime Lannister was a purely political one, though it did little to assuage his pain.

They returned to Winterfell and found a semblance of normalcy again. Brandon rode to Riverrun and came back with his Tully bride. Lyanna got on well with Catelyn. She was a lady but she didn’t judge Lyanna for stealing breeches and sneaking out of the castle to ride.

Ned remained unwed and Lyanna’s potential betrothal to Stannis Baratheon never came to be. When Rickard Stark complained about the difficulty of finding a good match for his daughter, she whispered:

“Perhaps you could write to Dorne.”

Her father turned to her with a surprised look on his face. Lyanna had never spoken about the matter of her own betrothal before, except to storm and sulk.

“Whatever gave you that idea, Lya?”

“Actually, it was the Princess Rhaenys. She has many Dornish friends and she said I... would like it there.”

“The Dornish are a queer folk. But the Princess rules the court and she does favor them. Did you speak with Rhaenys a lot?”

“Only a little. But she gave me some useful advice.”

Her father looked at her with fondness.

“You know, Lya, sometimes, your wildness made me despair of you. But this friendship with Princess Rhaenys, it’s good. I can see you’re finally growing up and learning to be a lady. I will write to Dorne for you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

She kissed his cheek dutifully, though inside she felt cold. _I never got to choose my weapon, so I must fight with everything I have._

_I can’t sew and curtsy to save my life but I can teach a Dornish Prince not to slap women._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter was long in coming, I planned to write more to tell you about Jaime and Rhaenys' fates but it didn't fit in.  
> This chapter adresses two of the most WTF moments of ASOIAF : Rhaegar passing over Elia as Queen of Love and Beauty and Obara's story. Not only what Oberyn did to Obara's mother was terribly wrong but I hate that Obara's mother was presented as weak for crying. What else could she have done ? If she had tried to resist Oberyn in any way, her life probably would have been forfeit. Crying and pleading was the only thing she could do. It's easy to be badass when you're male and highborn.


	6. Lysa Tully - The Maiden and the Monster

Lysa had gone to the Godswood to be alone in her misery but she was found nonetheless.

Rhaenys sat next to her on the cold, barren earth and held her tightly as she sobbed. She stroked her back softly, as Cat would have done, and waited until Lysa’s tears dried.

“What happened to cause you such pain, Lysa?” she asked softly.

“A letter. From home,” Lysa managed to get out.

Rhaenys’ face paled.

“Has something happened to your family?”

“You could say so,” Lysa answered darkly. “My foster brother, Petyr, challenged Brandon Stark to a duel for my sister’s hand. He lost and was grievously wounded, though his life is not in danger.”

“You’re worried about his injury.”

Lysa nodded.

“Father says Petyr behaved like a fool, challenging Lord Brandon like that. After his wound has healed, he will send him straight back to the Fingers. I’ll probably never see him again and I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

She choked on a sob.

“You care about Petyr a lot. I can see it.”

“We’ve been together since we were children. I’d do anything for him.”

“But he risked his life to win your _sister_ ’s hand.”

“I know!” Lysa cried out. “Everyone loves Cat. She’s the older, wiser, prettier sister. I thought Petyr was different. I thought he loved me for me. But, in the end, it was Cat he cared for more. Always Cat.”

“Lysa, you are lovely and charming maid of fifteen and any man should be very glad indeed to be the object of your affections. If Petyr can’t see that, perhaps he doesn’t deserve your love.”

“Really?” Lysa looked at the Princess hopefully behind her dark red hair.

“Really,” Rhaenys took Lysa’s hands in her hands. “I swear to you that I will find a man that will look at no other woman but you.”

Lysa’s heart soared a little. She loved Petyr but it would be good to be courted by a man who had never laid eyes on her sister.

“Will he be handsome?” she found herself asking.

“Very handsome.”

“Strong and noble?”

“You shall have a knight,” smiled Rhaenys. “And a highborn one, else your lord father will never give him your hand.”

Lysa could not help but giggle a little. She may have lost a sister when she had left Riverrun but she had found a new one in Rhaenys.

The Princess was everything she had imagined her to be and more. She was beautiful, courteous and kind towards everyone, whether there were born high or low. She had done everything to make Lysa comfortable with her new life in King’s Landing.

And now, she would take her to Harrenhall and the greatest tourney that ever was.

Lysa had always loved tourneys: the gallant knights riding against each other, the singers, the mummers and the feasts, she enjoyed it all. She thought that she would not see finer tourneys than in King’s Landing but Lord Whent had managed to outshine even the glamorous seat of Kings.

She had never seen food so fine. There were ripe peaches from the Reach, Arbor gold that tasted like summer, weird spicy dishes from Dorne that set Lysa’s mouth on fire, roasted venison in a crust of herbs, even a trout that tasted like home.

They were entertained as they ate, and each performance was more spectacular than the last. There were seven Bards, one from each of the Kingdom, garbed in all the colors of the rainbow. They were followed by a squat, bald Lysene man that breathed fire. A Braavosi mummer’s show played out an entire story using elaborately painted, articulated puppets half Lysa’s height.

After most guests were done eating, the mummers were replaced by musicians and people started dancing. Lysa was exhilarated. Lord Whent’s lavish prizes had drawn the scions of every noble House in the Realm. She had never seen so many young handsome knights and lords.

Princess Rhaenys glided across the pavilion, taking time to greet everyone she knew – and she knew many. Her ladies-in-waiting gravitated around her, breaking apart to speak with acquaintances of their own or take a spin on the dance floor. After a quarter of an hour, Lysa was breathless, flushed with happiness. She couldn’t help but smile deliriously. Her sorrow over Petyr seemed so far away. How could she be sad in such a magical place?

Lysa was taking a short break from dancing when the Princess Rhaenys stopped to speak with a young lady clad in the green of House Tyrell. She was accompanied by a man who could only be her brother, for they had the same soft brown curls and golden brown eyes. He was very handsome.

“Lady Lysa, this is Lady Alerie Tyrell and her brother, Ser Baelor Hightower. Alerie, ser Baelor, this is Lady Lysa of House Tully.”

They curtsied and Ser Baelor bowed his head to her. Alerie took the Princess’ hand and started talking in a fast, lively way, as between old friends.

“I have missed you so, Rhaenys. How is your little Visenya?”

“She’s almost two and she still has a very powerful voice. What about Willas and Garlan?”

They started talking about their motherly woes and sharing old, fond memories of King’s Landing, back when Lady Tyrell was still Lady Alerie of House Hightower and Rhaenys’ lady-in-waiting. Lysa could not contribute to the conversation and had no desire to interrupt the reunion of two old friends so she found herself awkwardly silent.

So did Ser Baelor. They shared a smile and he told her gallantly:

“Would you care to dance, my lady?”

Lysa had found her breath again and her feet barely hurt.

“I would love to dance, Ser.”

He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. During their dance, ser Baelor asked her if she was enjoying the tourney and Lysa said that she did, whole-heartedly.

“You would love the Reach, my lady. There isn’t a place in the Seven Kingdoms where tourneys are more revered and knights upheld to higher standards.”

Lysa then asked him about the Reach and he told her about Oldtown, the finest city in the Seven Kingdoms and the home of the Citadel.

They were so engrossed in their conversation that they danced not one but three dances. Lysa was exhausted and clutching Ser Baelor’s arm when he brought her back to the Princess. Lady Alerie was gone, probably back to her husband’s side.

Ser Baelor took his leave, kissing Lysa’s hand. He was so very gallant that Lysa hoped she would dance with him again on the morrow.

The following day was the day of the melee. Lysa trembled when she saw Jaime Lannister bowing before the Princess. As soon as she had seen them dancing, she had known that they were meant to be together. Rhaenys, tall, beautiful and silver-haired looked like the Maiden made flesh and Jaime Lannister, so young and handsome in his golden armor, was the very image of the Warrior. It was a love story straight out of a song, the Silver Princess and her Golden Knight.

_Harrenhall is truly a magical place. A place where dreams come true and songs come to life._

That night, Lysa saw Ser Baelor again. She was with Elia Martell when he came to ask her to dance. He bowed stiffly to the Princess of Dorne, his face bright red and his expression pained. Elia replied with a proper curtsy but her eyes were dancing with mirth and she bit her lip as if to refrain from laughing. It was very odd.

“Do you know Princess Elia?” Lysa asked as they danced.

Baelor flushed again.

“We met before. I shamed myself before her and, now, I can’t even look at her in the eyes.”

Lysa was glad. _You can’t love a woman whose mere look makes you feel ashamed._

“Whatever you did, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

She wisely did not ask what it was. Baelor looked relieved. When he smiled, the golden speckles in his eyes seemed to be dancing.

When the tourney ended, Lysa was distraught. As she could no longer see her golden-eyed knight, she consoled herself by watching Rhaenys’ romance with Jaime Lannister unfold. It was a true privilege to be a witness to such an epic love story between a beautiful Princess and a brave knight. She hoped they would wed soon.

Ser Baelor came to King’s Landing for every tourney. It was thrice more often than before he met her and Ashara teased Lysa about it while Elia looked at her with dark knowing eyes. Rhaenys merely smiled, but her smile spoke of promises fulfilled.

At the end of his third visit, Baelor asked her if he could write to her father to ask for her hand. Lya joyfully accepted.

“Do you think my father will give his consent?” she asked Rhaenys anxiously.

“Of course,” the Princess replied, taking her hands. “Your father wants the best match for you. All the Lords and heirs of the Great Houses are either wed or betrothed. The Hightowers are the most powerful bannermen of the Tyrell and the Lords of Oldtown. They have might in their own right. There are no offers who could trump Ser Baelor’s.”

Indeed, the Princess was right, for her father wrote to give his blessing and congratulate her on finding a good match. She and Baelor would be wed on Lysa’s eighteenth nameday.

Lysa had never been happier. The only dark spot in her life was when the King refused to give Ser Jaime his daughter’s hand. That was wicked and cruel!

That day, Rhaenys came to her and asked her for a favor with an urgent look in her eyes.

“Ser Jaime and I must wed in secret this very night. Would you be my witness? There is no one I would trust with this but you.”

_A secret marriage? That is so romantic!_

Lysa agreed readily. She was there when Rhaenys was wrapped in red velvet and threads of gold. She was there when Jaime Lannister’s lifeblood emptied on the floor of the derelict Sept. She clung to the Princess and cried as the Kingsguard led them – gently – to a room at the top of the highest tower of the holdfast and locked them there.

They were soon joined by Ashara and Elia. The two ladies had obviously been woken in the middle of the night and dragged there.

“What is this about, Rhaenys?” asked Elia.

“I planned to marry Jaime in secret but we were found out. Jaime and Ser Addam Marbrand were killed and we were captured.”

Ashara looked at her with wide eyes:

“I will never blame a woman for taking a paramour but did you have to marry the boy?”

“I had no choice. I’m pregnant with his child.”

Lysa couldn’t help but cry out in shock. She knew the Princess was no maid but she still didn’t think she would lay with Ser Jaime before they were wed. It was so improper, and nothing she could have ever expected from the Silver Princess.

Elia’s eyes narrowed. She was surprised too, but she also looked angry.

“I thought you were courting the father through the son. But if it was only a political alliance you sought, why did you sleep with Ser Jaime? Why did you defy your fathers’ order to marry him? And don’t tell me you loved him, the boy may have believed it but I know better.”

“I needed the child,” whispered Rhaenys. “The dragons must have three heads.”

“Is this about one of your prophecies again?”

“Not one of mine. The Targaryens always have had a gift for prophetic dreaming. My forefathers consigned it in their great volumes. When the Long Night comes and the Others return, the Prince that was promised will be born again amidst smoke and salt. Two of his blood will guide him and together, they will save Humanity from the edge of destruction.”

Rhaenys touched her stomach gently.

“Maggy the Frog did nothing but confirm it. It will be my son. My Aegon.”

“You are mad,” said Elia spitefully.

For the first time, Lysa saw something resembling anger on the Princess’ face.

“You are a child of Dorne, Elia, the land of always summer. What do you know of the dangers that lurk North? How can you be so sure I’m wrong?”

“You have no proof that this threat is real either. Yet, two men already lay dead because of your actions,” the Princess of Dorne replied harshly.

“I never intended for anyone to be hurt,” Rhaenys sounded truly contrite. “Jaime was supposed to return to Casterly Rock and I meant to send you all back home before I told the truth to my father. But we were found out.”

“Lady Cersei is not here with us,” said Ashara darkly. “She should be. Jaime was her brother.”

“She must have overheard us and went to the King. Damn her!”

Rhaenys sounded so distraught that Lysa put her hand on her shoulder and said in a reassuring tone:

“Everything will be alright. The King is angry with you right now but he will forgive you eventually. You are his only daughter. He will probably send you to Casterly Rock and the rest of us will all go home.”

“We can only pray that the King has such good sense, Lysa”, said Elia. “We can only pray.”

Lysa prayed and Lysa waited. It was unnerving to be locked up without any news from the outside. It was weeks before they were allowed out. The King had summoned them in the throne room.

Lysa’s heart lifted. It meant that he had forgiven them, that he would send them home.

The first thing Lysa noticed upon entering the Great Hall was that there were a lot more people than usual. The crowd opened for them as they were brought before the King. They were not the only ones there.

Lysa’s father stood before her, in a blue doublet embroidered with a red trout. He smiled at her and her heart leaped. He had come for her, even though she was only his second, less important daughter. He had come from her and he would take her home.

Lysa’s smile fell from her face when the Kingsguard escorted Tywin Lannister in.

The Old Lion of Lannister did not look so proud now. His too thin frame and sallow face spoke of a long time in a cold, dark cell. Lysa saw her father looking at him with alarm.

The King stretched on his throne. They were blood on his hand and arms where he had cut himself on the sharp blades. He smiled and his gums were also bloodied. Lysa shivered.

“You are here”, said the King in a surprisingly strong voice for such an emaciated man, “to answer to the charge of treason. Hoster Tully, you and your daughter are accused of complotting against your rightful King. What say you?”

“Your Grace, I am ever loyal to you. Lysa is but a child and, whatever foolishness she has done, she cannot have committed treason. Please, Your Grace, allow us to be tried before the judges of the Seven.”

“You think the Gods know the truth of your innocence?” spat the King.

Hoster Tully, ever the faithful follower of the Faith of the Seven, could only stammer out his answer:

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Then, let us have a trial by combat.”

Lysa inhaled sharply. Some men from the Riverlands had accompanied her father to King’s Landing. She knew their faces since childhood and they were good men, brave and true, but none could face the Sword of the Morning or the White Bull and live.

Her father saw it too because his face turned ashen.

“Your Grace...”

The King cut him off.

“The Targaryens have only need of one champion. Bring it forth!”

Lysa expected one of the men of the Kingsguard to step forward and challenge her father. Instead, she stared uncomprehendingly as two men dressed in black came rushing forward, one carrying a large torch, the other a jar.

“If you truly are innocent, you need only not burn,” the King replied mockingly.

They emptied the jar on her father’s head. It was, Lysa realised in a flash of horror, oil.

She howled and tried to fight her way forward but strong arms seized her. One hand covered her eyes, the other clamped her mouth shut.

Lysa could not see but she could smell the scent of burned flesh, so atrociously similar to roasted meat, and hear the agonized screams of her father. She struggled but the man holding her was too strong.

“I’m sorry, my lady. You must not allow the King to notice you now,” Arthur Dayne’s voice whispered in her ear.

Eventually, the screams subsided into whimpers and then silence. Lysa sagged against Arthur Dayne. The knight was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Tywin Lannister, you are accused of trying to unseat your rightful King and replace him with your son. What say you?”

The Old Lion’s voice sounded defiant as he replied:

“You have already proved that you are a madman, a fool and utterly unfit to be King. I will not defend myself before the likes of you. Only remember than the Lannisters always pay their debts.”

“Burn him!” the madman shrieked.

“It’s over,” whispered Arthur Dayne. “It’s over, Lysa.”

He carried her back to the room she shared with Rhaenys, Ashara and Elia. The other ladies were pale and tight-lipped as they offered her their condolences in ushed tones. Lysa did not reply. Her head was filled with her father’s screams and her mind had gone blank.

She could not say whether a night or a week had passed when Ser Arthur Dayne came to visit them. Oddly, he was not wearing his white armor but a well-worn leather jerkin.

“You must flee with me now.”

“You are disobeying the King,” Ashara said disbelievingly.

“I am. I am no longer a Knight of the Kingsguard. It makes me a traitor and an oathbreaker but I cannot risk you.”

Arthur’s gaze went first to his sister, then lingered on Elia.

“The King understands your value as hostages... for now. He burnt to death two powerful Lords without a thought for the consequences. Who can tell what he will do next? What if he asks me to light you on fire? My oath would demand than I obey him but, for love and honor, I cannot do it.”

“What about the guards outside the door?” asked Rhaenys.

Arthur Dayne smiled sadly.

“There are many men who hold more loyalty to you than your father, Your Highness. It was easier than I thought to plan your escape. The Shimmering Sea awaits us on the dock. It is the fastest ship available and it will sail for Dorne as soon as we set foot onboard. I have brought you some more discrete clothes for the city and a little milk of the poppy to ensure the Lady Visenya sleep through our escape.”

“I owe you more than I could ever repay, Ser Dayne,” said Rhaenys wistfully.

“You owe me nothing, Your Highness.”

During the whole trip, Lysa was terrified that they would find her and that they would make her scream like her father. But favorable winds brought them quickly and safely to Sunspear.

Lysa hated Dorne. The heat was simply unbearable. She wore thin Dornish gowns that clung indecently to her skin, yet she still felt hot and sticky all the time. The Dornishmen had no sense of propriety. They fought loudly and did not care one with if they were heard. They made love out of wedlock and acted like it was nothing.

Lysa hated the Dornishmen because they were no knights. They fought with spears, hid behind rocks and won through cunning rather than bravery. Each day, Lysa worried that a Dornish spear would kill Baelor. Yet, she could not wish for the gallant Reachmen’s victory, for they had declared for the Mad King.

Lysa wished for many things. She wished for the war to end, she wished to see Riverrun again, she wished for her betrothed’s kiss and her sister’s embrace. She wished for many things but it was all for naught, so she waited, and she hated instead.

She hated Elia for marrying Arthur Dayne in the Water Gardens. Lysa would never get to marry the man she loved now. She hated Doran Martell for being shrewd enough – and dishonorable enough – to ignore his King’s summon. He still drew breath while her father had died. She hated Ashara for leaving for Starfall with her brother and goodsister. Lysa ached each time she remembered Edmure’s sweet face.

Rhaenys, she hated most of all. Rhaenys, who sent ravens to every corners of the Realm. Rhaenys, who played cyvasse with Doran Martell as her belly swelled.

“Elia was right”, Lysa said one day. “You are a madwoman and my father died because of you.”

“I won’t deny that my actions played a role in your father’s death, Lysa,” said Rhaenys tiredly. “And, if there was anything that I could do to change that, I would. But it was my father who murdered him. He is the one who is truly responsible for his death.”

“If you are truly sorry, then let me go home,” she begged Rhaenys.

“The Riverlands is not a safe place right now.”

“Then, let me go North, to my sister Catelyn. No loyalists have crossed Moat Caitlin. I would be safe in Winterfell.”

“Perhaps in a little while.”

“You still want to use me, right?”

Rhaenys did not answer.

“You asked me to witness your wedding because you knew I wouldn’t question it. Elia or Ashara would have but I was too witless. I thought life was a song,” said Lysa in a disgusted tone.

Rhaenys looked right into her eyes. Her look was steely and there was no hint of her usual courtesy in her tone.

“It is considered normal for men to send their friends into battle. Indeed, they are praised for it, for doing their duty, for not letting their hearts overcome their judgment. I care for you, Lysa, but I will still use you if I have to. My father is too insane and too dangerous to be left to rule. I must take his throne and I will, by any mean necessary.”

“Your brother is your father’s heir.”

“Viserys?” scoffed Rhaenys. “He is an ill-tempered seven years old. Would you entrust the Realm to this child Lord? I am older, wiser, and better-loved by the nobles and smallfolk alike. Why shouldn’t the throne be mine?”

“This war is all your doing! You’ve wanted the throne since the beginning.”

“I have. But I didn’t scheme and lie for a crown. Everything I did, I did for the good of the Realm.”

She gently laid a hand on her belly.

Lysa was here when the child was born. It was a girl with a full head of Lannister curls. Lysa noted spitefully that she looked more like Cersei than Rhaenys. The only Targaryen thing about the babe was her eyes. Lysa had never seen such a bright, arresting shade of violet before.

“A girl! A useless girl! Where is the Prince who was promised now?”

“Don’t insult Rhaenys because of her gender,” replied Rhaenys calmly as she nursed her daughter. “She is still one of the three heads of the dragon.”

“You named the babe after yourself?”

“I did not. She _is_ Rhaenys Targaryen. If anything, I am the namesake.”

She smiled blissfully at her daughter.

“Is she worth it, then?” asked Lysa coldly. “Is your and Jaime Lannister’s spawn worth the deaths you’ve brought on?”

“She is worth everything.”

“You are a monster.”

“I am a Queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness but that was one juggernaut of a chapter !
> 
> I tried to show different facettes of Lysa Tully, from the sweet, naive girl she was to the bitter woman she became in canon. This chapter is also the first that offers some insights into Rhaenys' true character and motivations. 
> 
> Favorite moments : Elia calling Rhaenys out for her BS and Tywin verbially destroying the Mad King (way to go out in style).
> 
> We will come back North for the next chapter, with more news about the war.


	7. Catelyn Stark - Honorless

There was no Sept in Winterfell so Catelyn Stark prayed in her chambers.

She prayed to the Mother for her unborn child’s health. To the Maid, she directed her wishes for Lysa’s safe return. And, finally, she turned towards the Warrior to keep her husband safe.

Brandon led the men sent South to protect the Riverlands. “You will go no further South than that,” Lord Rickard Stark had told his son. “I forbid you to seek revenge against the King.” How Brandon had raged after that. He wanted to bring Catelyn the Mad King’s head on a platter and she was far from unwilling to receive it. Her heart ached for justice for her Lord father.

“I am sorry, Catelyn,” her goodfather had told her roughly. “I will keep you and your brother safe and help defend your lands and people. But I cannot give you revenge. The price is too high.”

“If it were one of your own that had been murdered, would you march to King’s Landing?” she had asked rather harshly.

“I would not doom the North. Not even for Brandon, Ned or Lya.”

“Perhaps peace is too high a price, even for justice,” Catelyn had conceded. “But my sister is still out there and peace won’t bring her back. The King prove that he had no sense when he wrote to my uncle after murdering my father and demanded Edmure as a ward. He prove that he had no compassion when, upon Brynden’s refusal, he sent men to kill our people and plunder our lands. The Mad King won’t exchange Lysa against any hostages, or as a part of any peace terms. If we are to get her back, we must take the city and we can’t do that without your help!”

Catelyn hadn’t realised she had raised her voice until the end of her tirade. But her goodfather had simply looked at her sadly.

“You are right about the King, girl. And you know just what his madness and cruelty means. He will kill your sister before you even breach the city walls. All the might of the North cannot save her.”

“You are a wretched man,” she had whispered.

“Hard lands breed hard people. A Northman does not hide from the truth, no matter how painful.”

“I was born a Tully, my lord. _Family, Duty, Honor_ are still my words. I will never give up on Lysa.”

“And I will keep your sister in my prayers, for there is nothing else I can do for her.”

Edmure had arrived in Winterfell a few days after that conversation. Catelyn’s heart had leapt in joy to see him well, and away from the fighting. He would be safe in Winterfell and she owed it to Rickard Stark. In her anger, her worry and grief, she had been unkind to him.

“I apologize for my behavior. You already have done so much for us, by welcoming my brother to your home and sending your men South. A less honorable man would have left us to our fate but, instead, you risk bringing about the King’s wrath on your own family by helping us.”

“By your wedding with Brandon, our two families were united. I have no doubt that, if our positions had been reversed, Lord Hoster would have done the same,” had been Rickard Stark’s simple answer and Catelyn had respected him all the more for it. They spoke no more of the war until one fateful morning.

The day began normally enough. Catelyn was sitting between Rickard and Lyanna and the atmosphere of their side of the table was glum. On the opposite side, Edmure was whispering excitedly to Benjen Stark. Catelyn was glad the boys were young enough to have fun still but she had no patience for them on this particular morning. She was just bone-deep tired.

She was picking at her food, feeling vaguely nauseous, when Winterfell’s maester entered the Great Hall, his hair in disarray and clutching three letters in his hands.

“Why didn’t you send these to my solars?” Rickard Stark asked harshly.

“A raven from Dorne, my Lord,” the maester said hurriedly. “Two of the letters are addressed to you. One is sealed with a three-headed dragon on scarlet wax, the other with the sun and spear of House Martell.” His bloodshot eyes rested on Catelyn for an instant. “The third letter is for the Lady Catelyn and it is sealed with blue wax and the leaping trout of House Tully.”

Rickard Stark’s eyes narrowed.

“Bring us these letters.”

Catelyn snatched her letter from the maester’s hand, her heart teeming with fear and anticipation. She recognized Lysa’s handwriting the moment her eyes fell on the paper and she tore through the envelope to get to her sister’s message.

_Dear Cat,_

_I am so relieved to finally be able to write to you. I owe my life to the bravest, most honorable knight, ser Arthur Dayne, who smuggled us out of King’s Landing in the depth of the night and put us on a boat to Dorne._

_I arrived yesterday in Sunspear and Prince Doran Martell has been most kind, welcoming me into his home as an honored guest. However, I do not doubt that we will soon be together again as I will endeavour to join you North as soon as I can get on a ship. Of Edmure and Uncle Brynden, Prince Doran could only tell me little and I pray everyday for their safety and the sanctity of our home._

_Princess Rhaenys Targaryen intends to make a claim to the Iron Throne and I beg you to convince your goodfather to support it. It is the only way we can get justice for our father, the only way Edmure’s life and his claim to the Riverlands can be secured._

_There is so much more that I want to tell you, dearest sister, but none of it can be merely expressed by words on a page so it will have to wait until we see each other again._

_Your devoted sister,_

_Lysa_

“What is it, Cat?” pestered Edmure. “What does it say?”

“Wonderful things, sweetling. Lysa is no longer held in King’s Landing. She is in Dorne, among friends.”

“Does this mean Lysa will be there soon?” Edmure chirped excitedly.

“It is a long way from Dorne to the North but I am sure she will come as quick as she can,” Catelyn replied cheerily. She could feel her goodfather’s eyes on her. “I think I have eaten quite enough, if you will excuse me.”

“So have I. If you would care to come to my solar, Catelyn, I would like to discuss some things with you.”

“I am coming too,” said Lyanna sharply. When Catelyn and Rickard both looked at her, she stared back unapologetically. “I am no longer a child and I am the only one of us who has even _met_ the Princess Rhaenys.”

“How do you know we will speak about the Princess, girl?”

“Come on, a Targaryen writing from Dorne? Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

To the solar, they went and, when the door was shut behind them, Catelyn asked:

“What did the Princess write?”

Rickard Stark let out a great, bellowing laugh.

“She apologizes prettily for eloping with Jaime Lannister, branding it as an act of true love and not a political conspiracy. She absolves your father and Tywin Lannister of any wrongdoings and denounces her own father as mad and dangerous. She promises justice to those he has wronged. She wants to change the law of succession to the Iron Throne to the Rhoynish custom of equal primogeniture, making herself her father’s heir. And she styles herself Crown Princess Rhaenys of House Lannister and Targaryen! I don’t know if the girl has wits but she actually has guts.”

“Can she do this? Can she just pass over her own brother like that?” asked Lyanna, sounding both disapproving and more than a little envious.

“If she has enough men to support her, she can do as she likes. The Dornishmen supports her and the Lannisters will too, after what the Mad King did to their family.” Rickard Stark glanced at Catelyn. “So will the Tullys.”

“Do not think I have forgotten whose elopement started this war,” said Catelyn. “But what choice do we have? Someone must sit the Iron Throne. Viserys’ claim is better but he is too young and completely under his father’s control. If the Princess Rhaenys can unite the Riverlands, Westerlands and Dorne, we actually stand a chance of winning this war.”

“What about the others Kingdoms?” said Lyanna. “Rhaenys’ daughter is a Baratheon, right?”

Rickard Stark hummed thoughtfully.

“I am sure Lord Baratheon is fond of his granddaughter but any fondness he had for his former gooddaugther must have evaporated when she started romancing the Young Lion barely out of widow’s weeds. Furthermore, Lord Baratheon is close to his cousin and he is a loyal man. He won’t betray his King. Nor will Jon Arryn. She might have a chance to sway the Reach but she will have to offer them a lot. A greedy bunch they are, the Tyrells.”

“What about us?” asked Lyanna.

“I have not made my decision yet. What did your sister’s letter say, Catelyn?”

Catelyn summarized the letter and quickly added:

“It was written in Lysa’s hands but it was not Lysa’s usual style. She is normally much more casual when she writes to me.”

“Do you think someone dictated the letter to her?” asked Rickard Stark gravely.

Catelyn shook her head.

“Some of the expressions are pure Lysa. “ _Smuggled out in the depths of the night”, “the bravest, most honorable knight”_. She just sounds restrained, as if she knew her letter was not meant for my eyes only. She even wrote it. “ _There is so much more that I want to tell you, dearest sister, but none of it can be merely expressed by words on a page so it will have to wait until we see each other again.”_ She carefully worded it to make it sound like sentimentality, but it was prudence that made her keep her peace.”

“Wise of her to be prudent, since she is a hostage in Dorne.”

Catelyn startled, and her goodfather promptly added:

“I am sure she will be treated with every kindness and comfort. However, I would not hope to see your sister before Rhaenys Targaryen sits the Iron Throne.”

Catelyn was livid but she nodded curtly.

“Lysa used to rave about the Princess and call her by her first name. In her letter, she merely addresses her claim to the throne and uses her full title. At least, she is now wary of this false friend.”

“Let’s talk more about the Princess’ falsehoods. Lyanna, yours was but a short acquaintance but I think you mentioned that the Princess told you she was interested in a political match with Jaime Lannister, am I right?”

Lyanna nodded.

“She said it was to please Lord Tywin and keep the peace.”

“And now, in her letter, it becomes an act of true love! How convenient.” Her goodfather turned towards Catelyn. “I am not accusing your father of any treachery but it is actually possible that Rhaenys and Lord Tywin plotted together. The Old Lion was always a little too eager to put his son on the throne and, when she married Jaime, Rhaenys essentially bought House Lannister’s support.”

“Do you think she actually _plotted_ all this?” said Catelyn, utterly disgusted.

“I do not think she accounted for Lord Hoster and Lord Tywin’s deaths. They could have been very valuable to her. No, it just sounds like the Dragon Princess just went way over her head in plotting. What did you think of her, Lya?”

“She seemed sweet and melancholic. Very polished. But she also told me that we women fight with everything we have. I think that, if she does want the Iron Throne, she will do everything to get it. And why shouldn’t she? She was born first. It’s her right.”

“She has _no_ right to let her ambition cause destruction in its wake,” said Catelyn sharply.

“So she should just have accepted to be traded by her father like a morsel of meat?”

“She should have”, said Catelyn harshly. “It was her _duty_. If she had done it, my father would still be alive, as would many good, strong men. If she had chosen to stay a Princess instead of fancying herself a Queen, the Realm would not bleed. And do not speak to me of her being traded like a morsel of meat when she is dangling my sister in front of our eyes to make us behave, as if Lysa was hers to use!”

Lyanna flushed and bit her lip, but she did not protest her goodsister’s words. Instead, she asked:

“What about the third letter?”

“A pretty piece from Doran Martell, ensuring me of the continued friendship of House Martell. He is pressing for a betrothal between you and Oberyn.” Lord Rickard looked none too pleased about it.

“I will marry him if I have to,” said Lyanna, eyeing Catelyn defiantly.

“I won’t force my daughter to marry a whoremonger, nor do I have the intention of seeking an alliance with House Martell right now. I refuse to be a puppet dancing on the Targaryen girl’s strings. If she wants me to bend the knee, she will have to give me something worthwhile in exchange.”

Catelyn sighted. She knew that trying to change her goodfather’s mind would be an exercise in futility. House Stark would stay neutral. _I am sorry, Lysa._

The war kept going as Catelyn’s belly swelled. Kevan Lannister finally managed to break the siege of Lannisport with the help of many a company of sellswords. Her uncle was slowly riding the Riverlands of its vermins. Further South, the Dornishmen were skirmishing with the Reachmen at their joint border.

They were not losing but they were not winning either. The flow of the war had slowed down to a trickle, as each party held firmly to their positions.

Of course, it would not last forever. In the bowels of Casterly Rock, the Lannisters were mustering another host. In the depths of their desert, the Martells were readying themselves for open warfare. And, though many of her father’s – no, her brother’s – bannermen had returned to their holdfast, Catelyn knew they had not forgotten the Mad King’s crimes.

They were waiting. For what, Catelyn did not know, as she was not privy to the minds of battle commanders. But even she knew the course of the war changed when Princess Rhaenys Targaryen came to Winterfell.

She first wrote to Lord Rickard from Sunspear, to request a meeting with him. Her lady-in-waiting Lady Lysa of House Tully would come with her, as she was eager to visit her sister. Prince Oberyn Martell had kindly agreed to be their escort. Would the Lord of Winterfell receive them?

Rickard Stark had laughed while reading the letter. “Does she truly think that a second son will be enough to convince me to bend the knee? That your sister’s coming will placate me enough to make me declare for her? Foolish girl.”

“I don’t think that a marriage between Lyanna and Prince Oberyn is the only think she has to offer to you,” said Catelyn quietly. She held Lysa’s letter in her hand. Her sister was so excited at the prospect of seeing her again that she almost sounded like her old self. “Lysa wrote me that the Princess just gave birth to a girl. Both mother and child are healthy.”

“So?”

“Princess Rhaenys is barely out of the birthing bed,” she replied, a hand on her own pregnant belly. “Yet, she would come all the way here, a long and difficult journey for a woman who has just given birth. She’s obviously in a hurry. Whatever she wants of you, she wants it badly and, if she’s smart, she will offer you much.”

Catelyn did not know what it was and truly did not care. Her fears had grown with the child within her, memories of siblings lost too soon, nightmares of her mother’s kind smile drowning in blood. She hoped Lysa would be there when she gave birth. She prayed that she would have Rhaenys Targaryen’s luck in the birthing bed.

The day of Lysa’s coming dawned fair but chilly. Spring had returned to the North but it was still colder than the bitterest winter in Riverrun. Catelyn shivered as she stood between Benjen and Edmure, waiting for the Princess’s party to arrive.

The riders that poured from the castle gates were not many. There were Manderly men at the head of the column and some knights with the look of Dorne about them, dark of hair with suntanned skin.

Finally, Catelyn saw bright red as Lysa rode through the gate of Winterfell. She had left her hair completely unbound and they flowed behind her like a fiery banner. Edmure saw her too and waved at her enthusiastically. Lysa smiled and spurred her horse, riding past the head of the column. She dismounted before her siblings with ease and wrapped them both in a bear-like hug.

Words failed Catelyn as she hugged her sister for the first time in months.

“Lysa... I am so glad... To have you back... To see you safe...”

“No heart could be gladder than mine in this instant, Cat.”

Lysa relinquished her hold on her siblings and look at them with bright eyes.

“Edmure, you have grown so much. And Cat... you are soon going to be a mother!”

“And you will soon hold your nephew or niece in your arms!”

Lysa laughed, part happiness and part sheer relief. She looked at Benjen and seemed to notice for the first that they were not alone. She immediately dipped a perfect curtsy towards Lord Rickard.

“Lord Stark, you have my utmost thanks for welcoming me into your home.”

“As you have mine.”

Lysa jumped and turned towards the speaker. The Princess Rhaenys was just behind her, looking very regal atop her white mare. She had braided back her hair in a simple Northern style and she wore heavy furs. Next to her, Prince Oberyn Martell sat on a black stallion, looking both cold and bored out of his mind.

A Manderly knight offered to help the Princess dismount and she accepted graciously. Once Rhaenys was standing right before her eyes, Catelyn noticed that her chest seemed oddly-shaped, as if she was carrying a bundle behind her furs.

“My Lord of Stark.”

“Your Highness.”

Catelyn was proud to say her goodfather’s tone, while not being overtly disrespectful, contained no small amount of irony.

“My daughter Lyanna and my son Benjen, you already know. This is my gooddaughter Lady Catelyn Tully Stark and her brother, Lord Tully.”

Rhaenys bowed her head deeply to them.

“I offer my deepest condolences for you loss, my lord, my lady.”

_How dare she?_

Catelyn had to bite her tongue not to say something cutting. She was saved from having to actually thank the Princess for her words by Oberyn Martell’s intervention.

“Do we have to make conversation standing in the middle of courtyard?”

Rhaenys’ eyes danced with amusement.

“This is Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. He was kind enough to escort me.”

“I am ever my brother to command,” replied Prince Oberyn lightly, but Catelyn thought there was an allusion there that she did not quite catch.

The Princess pushed back her furs to show them the head of a little girl. She was about three years-old and had lush black hair.

“This is my daughter, Princess Visenya of House Targaryen and Baratheon.”

Catelyn’s eyes narrowed. The journey from Dorne had to have been difficult for young Visenya. Why hadn’t Rhaenys left her in Dorne with her newborn sister? If it had been any other woman, Catelyn would have thought that the reason was a mother’s heart, unwilling to be parted with both of her babes at once. But the Princess Rhaenys had yet to prove herself capable of any kind of love.

Rickard Stark also looked thrown off by Visenya’s presence but he quickly recovered.

“The nursery will be arranged to accommodate Princess Visenya. Now, you probably all want to rest after your journey. Please follow me.”

Once they were in the keep, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Oberyn were led to their chambers by servants. Lysa stayed with Catelyn and Edmure. After the boy was reassured that Lysa was well and not going to disappear any time soon, he scampered off to play with Benjen. Catelyn was almost glad to see him go, as she had much to discuss with her sister.

Thus, as Catelyn was brushing her sister’s hair soothingly, Lysa whispered to her about a prophecy and a three-headed dragon that was more than a sigil.

Catelyn was extremely trouble by her sister’s word. She had always thought that, though Rhaenys was a bad person, having her on the throne would be a blessing compared to the Mad King. Now, she was not so sure. Rhaenys’ obsession was with prophecy and not with fire and blood but Aerys had not always been a raving madman. Once, he had been charming and full of promises, just like his daughter seemed to be. Who could tell who the Princess would become? Would the babe in Catelyn’s belly wage war against the Mad Queen, twenty years from now?

At least, Catelyn now knew why the Princess had come to Winterfell. Rickard Stark did not tell many but he told her.

“She proposed a match between herself and Ned. A crown for my son against the allegiance of the North.”

“Any Southron Lord would beggar his house to see his son King,” replied Catelyn truthfully.

“I am no Southron Lord.”

“You wanted Southron matches for your children. This is the ultimate one.”

“Ned will marry the girl, if I ask him. Even if he were not besotted with her, he would do his duty. But will this match bring him power or death and ruin? Rhaenys Targaryen has a bad track record for husbands. Robert Baratheon did not last two year and Jaime Lannister did not last a week.”

Rickard Stark looked at her gravely.

“I did not accept or refuse yet. Instead, I made a counter-proposal. A match between Princess Visenya and your future son.”

Catelyn reflexively brought a hand to her belly.

“We don’t know if it will be a son yet.” _Or if it will live._

“Princess Rhaenys refused, anyway. She said that betrothing children before their tenth name day was dangerous and that she would not jeopardize her daughter’s happiness by agreeing on a match too early.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me. During war, babes can be married still at the breast for the sake of an alliance.”

“I agree with you. I would have thought Princess Visenya to be already promised to Quentyn Martell, as payment for Dorne’s support. However, if that were the case, there would be no need to use an excuse to hide the betrothal. The Princess Rhaenys just seems dead set on marrying Ned, though I cannot for the life of me figure out why.”

 _I think I know why_ , thought Catelyn. But Lysa’s secrets were not hers to tell.

 _I need to get to the bottom of this._ She wrote a note to the Princess, telling her to meet her in the godswood after the midday meal, and sent it through a servant.

Rhaenys was sitting in front of the heart tree when Catelyn arrived. She looked up at her curiously.

“Why did you choose to meet here?”

“So the gods can see.”

“I thought you kept the Seven.”

“I do. But there is no Sept in Winterfell so the old gods will have to keep watch instead of the new.”

Catelyn had been raised in the Faith of the Seven. The smell of the burning incense, the light of the candles and the murmurs of prayers were comfortable and reassuring to her. But she did not want Rhaenys to feel safe.

Winterfell’s godswood chilled her to the bones and the face of the heart tree made her shiver. She hoped Rhaenys shared some of her discomfort. She did not look like she was.

Catelyn sat next to the Princess to be at eye-level with her.

“Lysa told me about the prophecy.”

“I thought she would.”

“How can you believe it?”

“I know my duty, lady Catelyn.”

“What about laying a claim to the Iron Throne? Is that also your duty, or merely ambition?”

“It is my fate. I simply embraced it.”

“What about your brother, Viserys? Don’t you have any compunction about stealing his birthright?”

“Viserys is my younger brother. It is only fair that I inherit before him.”

“Not according to the laws of six of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Are laws always just? You are capable, smart and the eldest of your father’s children. Yet, your ten-year-old brother is Lord of the Riverlands and you are Brandon Stark’s wife.”

There was the slightest edge at the end of Rhaenys’ sentence. It was barely noticeable but it was there. Catelyn smiled and looked at the Princess squarely in the eyes.

“It will be easier if we agree to be honest with each other, Your Highness.”

“Very well, replied Rhaenys coldly. If laws _were_ just, you would be the Lady of Riverrun. Instead, you were sent away from your home to marry a man that will never respect enough not to dishonor you.”

Catelyn flushed as if she had been slapped.

“Brandon wouldn’t...”

She did not end her sentence as she knew it to be a lie.

“I know your husband’s kind, my lady. I was married to Robert Baratheon once,” said the Princess bitterly.

“I thought you got along well with him.”

“I did, after a fashion. However, I would not have chosen the man for my husband, if I had had any choice in the matter.”

“It isn’t about the prophecy, isn’t it? It’s about being Queen. It’s about being in control of your life, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

“Everything is about the prophecy,” replied Rhaenys coldly.

“Is that why you chose Jaime Lannister? Why you chose Eddard Stark? One of the head of the dragons must be a Lannister and the other a Stark.”

“A good guess. It is truly a shame to see you wasted on Brandon Stark.”

“I do not want Edmure’s lordship.”

“You are a trout. I am a dragon.”

“No. I care about others and you don’t. How many people died for you and your schemes, Your Highness?”

“I will repay their blood by my service to the Realm. I will live a life of greatness while you birth Brandon Stark’s children and keep his castle.”

“So be it. At least, I won’t have my husband’s blood on my hands.”

This time, it was Rhaenys who looked as if she had just been slapped.

“What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“Robert Baratheon was hale and strong. It seems awfully convenient he died the way he did, leaving you free to have your Lannister babe.”

Rhaenys’ eyes filled with tears.

“I _mourned_ Robert. I did not love him but I had affection for him, as he had for me.”

“Did you like him the way you like my sister? Your affection for her sure didn’t prevent you from using her. Robert was in the way of your _destiny_ so you got rid of him, plain and simple.”

“You have no proof. No one will ever believe you.”

“But rumors could spread, and harm your reputation.”

The Princess’ eyes grew even harder and colder.

“You have nothing to gain by undermining me. Your brother’s bannermen fight for me and soon, your goodfather’s will as well.”

“Indeed, why would I spread such tales?” said Catelyn with a smile so thin that it could have cut through ice. “But people might start to suspect the truth, especially if some harm were to befall your third husband.”

Rhaenys laughed. It was an ugly sound, high and brittle.

“Is it your purpose here? Defending Ned? Do you even _know_ him?”

“Not very well but he is my goodbrother and a good, honorable man by all accounts. And he is the only member of my family that is not safe from you.”

“This is the game of thrones. Everyone is player or piece. _No one is safe_ , not even the babe in your belly.”

“Do not even...”

Catelyn was struck silent by the feel of liquid running down her thighs.

“I think your water just broke, my lady. Please get up. I will escort you to the maester.”

Catelyn let the Princess pull her to her feet. It felt like a nightmare, a surreal nightmare.

“I will help you birth this babe, lady Catelyn.”

“No”, she said softly. “No,” she repeated in a stronger voice. “I do not want _you_ there. I want Lysa.”

“Lysa is sixteen and a maid. She will be terrified and useless. _I_ will stay by your side. The debt of blood that I owe you for Lord Hoster will be repaid.”

_This debt can never be repaid._

Yet, Catelyn pursed her lips and said:

“I might as well make use of you, Your Highness.”

The birth was long and painful and Catelyn often thought she would share her mother’s fate. Yet, Rhaenys kept telling her everything was happening normally and so did the maester.

“You’re doing very well, my lady. Just one more push.”

There were many more pushes before Catelyn finally heard the wails of her newborn babe.

“A healthy girl, my lady. What is her name?”

“Sansa”, she whispered the name Brandon and she had agreed on. “Give her to me.”

The maester handed her the babe gingerly and Catelyn got her first look at her sweet daughter’s face. A Tully face, with bright Tully hair to match.

Catelyn had never been allowed to see her lost siblings, the sons and daughters her parents had quietly buried into the ground. But she could feel Sansa’s weight in her tired arms and hear that her cries were not feeble. She was indeed a healthy babe.

Catelyn muttered a prayer of thanks to the Mother while the maester took Sansa from her arms.

“You can go to sleep, my lady.”

“Sansa...”

“I promise you the Lady Sansa will be well-taken care of. Her wet nurse is waiting just behind the door.”

Catelyn nodded weakly before surrendering to sleep.

The following morning, her first sight was a pair of Tully blue eyes. Lysa was anxiously peering at her sleeping form.

“Cat! Are your well?”

“Very well”, she replied through a parched throat.

Lysa hurriedly fetched her some water. Catelyn assured her she was not an invalid and sat in her bed.

“Where is Sansa?”

“Asleep in her crib. Do you want me to fetch her for you?”

Catelyn nodded eagerly and Lysa returned with her niece in her arms.

“She is very beautiful, Cat. She looks just like you.”

Now that she could get a better look at Sansa’s face, Catelyn could see that there was no trace of the Starks in her. Catelyn didn’t mind; her daughter would have been beautiful and perfect to her no matter whose looks she inherited. But would Brandon think the same way? She had given him a daughter instead of an heir, and a daughter who didn’t even look like him.

She was distracted from this unwelcome train of thought by her sister’s voice.

“You slept in so you missed the announcement. Your goodfather has bent the knee. The Princess will marry Lord Eddard and Lady Lyanna will marry Prince Oberyn to strengthen the alliance.”

Catelyn frowned.

“Lyanna is marrying Oberyn Martell? Are you sure?”

“The servants said she went to her father herself and asked for the match to be made. It seems that they spent some time together and got along well.”

Rickard Stark had no enthusiasm for that match. He would not have accepted it if it weren’t Lyanna’s own wish. Catelyn was glad that her goodsister had been able to choose her husband herself, that she had been mature enough to understand the necessity of that choice.

“The ravens are already flying to the Riverlands to recall Lord Eddard home for the wedding. Brandon will be attending as well so you will be able to see him again in a few weeks. Isn’t it wonderful, Cat?”

Catelyn nodded. It would be good to see Brandon again and the sooner she knew his thoughts about Sansa, the better. Catelyn vowed to herself that, no matter how Brandon felt about his Tully-looking daughter, Sansa would never lack a mother’s love.

As for the birth, her worries were thankfully proven wrong When Catelyn presented his daughter to him, Brandon got one look at her before exclaiming:

“Gods, she’s beautiful, Cat! Just as beautiful as you.”

“You don’t mind that I didn’t give you an heir?” Catelyn asked quietly.

“Nonsense, Cat! It doesn’t matter if our firstborn is a girl. We have years and years to have a dozen of boys.”

Brandon then kissed her breathless in front of the whole of Winterfell. Catelyn did not mind the impropriety. Right then, her husband’s arms was the one place she most wanted to be and the one place she felt happiest.

She was not the only one to feel joyful. With Brandon and Eddard’s return and the preparations of a double wedding, the atmosphere in the castle was one of celebration.

The only one who seemed to grow glummer as each day passed was Lysa. She put on a brave face but sometimes Catelyn caught her looking forlornly at the sitting arrangements for the wedding feast or at the material chosen for Lyanna’s gown.

Catelyn knew she was thinking about her betrothal with Baelor Hightower. It was terribly unfair that the match that made her sister so happy was so uncertain now. But still not impossible.

“Once Rhaenys Targaryen sits the Iron Throne, the Hightowers will bend the knee and be forgiven. They will be even more eager to marry you to Baelor, as it will give them a tie with a loyalist House.”

“If we win,” had replied Lysa. “If he doesn’t die,” she had whispered.

Her sister no longer was the naive child that had left Riverrun, her head filled with songs and stories about knights and lovely maidens and the glamour of the capital. Instead, the Lysa that had returned to her was a beautiful woman with enough ice in her heart to match the fire in her hair.

Yet, it was she who wove a crown of blue roses in Lyanna’s hair before the wedding.

“It looks like the one Princess Elia wore as Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney at Harrenhall,” said Lyanna.

Lysa nodded.

“I thought it would suit you.”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, lady Lysa.”

Tears came to Catelyn’s eyes and she thanked the Gods that her sister’s strength and compassion were enough to overcome the seeds of bitterness and hatred that her ordeal in King’s Landing had planted in her heart.

Lysa stood tall and proud between Catelyn and Edmure as Rickard Stark removed the Stark cloak from his daughter’s shoulders. She did not falter when Oberyn Martell wrapped Lyanna in his House colors.

There were no cloaks for Rhaenys. She could not take the name and colors of the Starks, as no Southron House would accept to be ruled by a cadet branch of House Stark. Instead, it was Eddard Stark who laid down his old name to become Prince Eddard Targaryen.

The Maiden’s hand had sheltered Lysa, the Warrior had protected Brandon, the Mother had given her sweet Sansa. Now, Catelyn begged the Seven to give her goodbrother protection. He would need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long ! (but this chapter is longer than the one before)  
> I wasn't supposed to use Cat's POV but I'm very glad I did. She's younger and angrier than in canon, but still the perfect foil for Rhaenys.  
> I really like doing parallels with canon in this chapter : there is the double wedding, of course, in Winterfell instead of Riverrun. But the scene I wanted to mirror most was the conversation between Ned and Cersei in the godswood. It was an awesome conversation for both characters and I wanted Cat and Rhaenys to have that.  
> Also, I gave myself Ned/Cat feels even if they barely know each other in this fic.  
> Finally, the Sansa in this chapter is canon!Sansa, even though she's Brandon daughter. She's born first here because I have a thing for firstborn daughters.  
> Coming next in First of her Name : how Lyanna Stark and Oberyn Martell decided to get married.


End file.
